


I've Got You Now

by redonpointe



Series: From Russia, With Love [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Natasha Romanov, Protective Natasha Romanov, Sherlock Has A Nightmare, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonpointe/pseuds/redonpointe
Summary: Natasha kissed his neck again and stole his cigarette with her free hand. Without so much as a word, she reached to put it out on the balcony rail. There was the quietest hissing sound as it ate up a bit of paint.Sherlock nipped at her fingers. “You’re bossy.”“A little bit bossy.” Natasha tipped her head to nip at his ear, smoothing her now free hand down his chest and abdomen. “I’d bother with an apology, but you you weren’t exactly complaining about it a few hours ago."(Or, Sherlock has nightmares and Natasha knows exactly how to chase them away.)





	I've Got You Now

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin! Alternate Universe where Sherlock Holmes and Natasha Romanov are in an established relationship. Can be set anywhere during both Sherlock's and Natasha's hiatuses. Rated 'mature' for language and some pretty explicit references to sex, but no actual sex is had. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“ _Natalia…_ ”

Sherlock’s lips were the softest pressure on Natasha’s shoulder. She felt the warmth of his breath, the brush of them on her skin as he moved them back and forth over her scar. He only ever woke her this way when he meant to get out of bed and didn’t want to startle her, light sleeper that she was. Smoothing a hand over his arm, she opened her eyes and peeked at the bedside clock. Almost three in the morning.

She mewled softly when pressed another kiss to her neck. “You’re awake,” she whispered.

“Nightmare,” he murmured against her cheek, where he pressed yet another kiss. “I’m having a cigarette on the balcony, do you need me to close the door?”

“No.” She squeezed his arm, turning her face to him. “Same nightmare as always? With the water and the well and the drowning?”

Sherlock hummed in confirmation and kissed her again. Then gently, he untangled himself from her arms and left the bed. She rolled herself over, tugging the blanket up over her shoulder. They kept his cigarettes and lighter in her leather duffel bag, and she followed him with her eyes as he leaned over the corner chair to fish them out of an inside pocket. He popped one between his lips, slid the glass doors of the balcony to one side, and sauntered out into the cool night air with a flicker of flame from his lighter.

The tiny village of Conques, France was dark and dead quiet at this time of night. There weren’t any lampposts in the old, narrow streets, save for the few that hung on a few tourist-friendly buildings. The village guarded their authentic, medieval aesthetic jealously. The little inn they’d settled into had no lights at all, in fact, but outside it was still bright enough that if anyone happened to walk by, they’d get an impressive view of Sherlock stark naked on the balcony, with scruff on his cheeks and smoke in the air, bathed in moonlight like some wolf god made flesh.

Pressing her face into his pillow, Natasha smiled and took a moment to enjoy the view herself. It was  _her_  view, after all.

She doubted anyone would be walking the streets at this time of night, at any rate, save the old lady who owned the bakery across the street. She’d taken an immediate shine to Sherlock on their very first day, gushing adorably over his bright blue eyes (“Oh, I’ve never seen eyes so  _blue_!”) and his cheekbones (“So handsome, like an old Hollywood movie star, he is, isn’t he?”) and insisted they take extra helpings whenever they went over for a bite to eat. She always got up early to make her loaves and buns.

Three was still too early for her to be up, but the thought of her catching a glimpse of Sherlock in absolutely nothing through the large window of her bakery was amusing enough to make Natasha smile a little wider.

Sherlock was breathtaking with or without his clothes, but there was something… wild about him in just his skin. Something primal, natural, vulnerable,  _beautiful._ Something all male. Their year off the grid had hardened his already lean frame with sculpted muscle, flecked his skin with scars, and broadened his shoulders, back, and chest, but he’d lost none of his predatory grace and elegance. She swept her eyes over the line of his shoulders while he eyed the street below, bracing his free hand on the balcony. Then she let her gaze drop further down, down, down his back, lingering for a moment on his tight, pert arse.

“Enjoying the view?” he called quietly over his shoulder.

“Always,” she called back with a soft laugh. 

Abandoning the warmth of their bed and blanket, she made her way over and silently, tenderly slid her arms around him from behind. There was cool breeze biting at their naked skin. Wolfish and fierce in her need to comfort, soothe, and protect the man in her arms, she brushed her lips to the back of his neck and pressed her body flush against his back.

“You might give your admirer across the street a heart attack, though,” she added, teasing.

Sherlock’s quiet rumble of a laugh eased a little of her previous worry. “She’ll survive it,” he murmured. “She might even force another helping ‘sweet buns’ on us, God help us.”

“Mm, well, with such a tempting view of  _your_  sweet buns, who could blame her. She’d get along great with Martha.”

She could practically  _hear_  the face he made. “Call it a rare mercy they’ll never cross paths.”

Tightening her arms around hist waist, Natasha pressed a kiss to his shoulder and eyed what she could see of his face. He’d had worse nightmares, of course, but this one with the well and the water and the drowning was recurring. She couldn’t help being concerned. He smoothed a hand over one of her arms wrapped around his waist, practically melting into her embrace with his next breath. She pulled him tighter to her body, nuzzling his neck in silent comfort.

“I’ve got you, you know,” she said quietly. “I always do.”

“I know,” he promised, slowly blowing out a cloud of smoke. “It was the same as always,” he added after a quiet beat. “Never changes. It’s dark, and I’m in the well, and I’m drowning.  I can’t breathe, but no on one hears me.” He pressed against her a little more. “And I can never get out.”

She squeezed him in her arms. “You did get out,” she whispered. “You’re here in my arms, and I’ve got you now. Whatever your nightmares are telling you, if you reach for me, I promise, I’ll be there…” She kissed his neck and he brought one of her hands up to his lips, lacing their fingers together. She curled her fingers tight around his own. “And if you can’t reach for me, I’ll find  _you._ And I’ll keep you above water, okay?”

He stroked her skin with his thumb, and the trust in his voice when he spoke next made her heart  _ache_  in the best way.  “Okay,” he murmured back.

She kissed his neck again and stole his cigarette with her free hand. Without so much as a word, she reached to put it out on the balcony rail. There was the quietest hissing sound as it ate up a bit of paint.

Sherlock nipped at her fingers. “You’re bossy.”

“A little bit bossy.” Natasha tipped her head to nip at his ear, smoothing her now free hand down his chest and abdomen. “I’d bother with an apology, but you you weren’t exactly complaining about it a few hours ago,” she added cheekily. She smiled to herself when it pulled a growl from deep in his chest. She  _loved_  that she could distract him so easily from the darkness of his nightmares. She loved that he felt so  _safe_  with her. That she was his home, his shield, his safe haven. That he knew she’d burn whole worlds to keep him safe. “In fact…” she went on, brushing her lips along the shell of his ear. “I seem to recall a lot of praise. A lot of… ‘yes’ and ‘so good’ and ‘ _God_ , yes, you’re perfect, keep going’ and… oh, what was that other one?” Her hand dipped lower on his abdomen, his muscles twitching beneath her palm. “‘ _Fuck_ ,  _fuck, fuck, Natalia,_ don’t stop, I’m going to—”

Sherlock’s mouth was hot on hers before she had a chance to finish, the whole of him having twisted free from his arms. Natasha mewled in surprise at the feel of his large hand sinking into her hair, very nearly melted when he tipped her head back, parted her lips, and slid his tongue hot and slow against hers. Then she mewled again, longer, lower,  _needier_ , and felt him smile into the kiss, humming in victory like the bastard he was.

She bit his bottom lip. “Tease.”

“You’re not complaining,” he breathed back. Without breaking the kiss, he grasped her thighs, lifted her into his arms, and walked her back to bed as if she weighed nothing at all.

Graceful as a dancer, she wrapped her legs around him. “Well who’s bossy now.”

“I am,” he rumbled casually, laying her down on their wrinkled sheets to crawl on top. She bit her lip at the feel of him half hard and brushing against her the inside of her thigh, tipped her head back when she felt him nosing at her neck. “And you like it,” he finished against her pulse.

A slow smile curved her lips, her hands sliding down his chest. “Prove it,” she challenged, turning her head to whisper in his ear. “Make me scream.”

When he lifted his head to look at her, the wicked little smile that lit up his blue eyes and spread across his face sent hot tingles of anticipation all the way down her spine. “Dangerous words,” he said lowly. Then he lifted himself above her, taking his lips just out of reach from hers. “Flip over.”

She looked up at him with hugely dilated pupils. “…consider me intrigued,” she breathed. She turned lithely, gracefully in the cage of his arms, laying on her stomach so he was hovering over her back. She closed her eyes and shivered slightly when she felt him press a slow, wet kiss right between her shoulder blades. Her heart was racing already. “Do I get a clue what you’re planning in that brilliant head of yours?”

“What I consider a fair exchange,” he spoke against her skin. He kissed a slow, slow, slow path all the way down her spine. “You got to stare at my ‘sweet buns’ to your heart’s content, seems only logical I now get to stare at yours…”

He bit the left cheek of her bare arse without so much as a word of warning, and Natasha’s hips jumped a little bit off the bed. She made a soft sound from from the back of her throat when he pressed his smile to the small of her back. “Pirate,” she laughed.

“Wolf,” he shot back. He kissed his way back up her body until he reached her ear, speaking low and rough as he gently, tenderly, taking his sweet time, swept her long, red hair from her neck. He’d always had a  _thing_  for her hair. “On your hands and knees now for me,  _volchitsa moya_.” She propped herself up on her elbows and rose slowly to her knees, spreading her thighs wide. He pressed a kiss just below her ear. “Perfect…”

“ _Bozhe moi_ …” she breathed out, shivering beneath his hands at the promise of what was to come. She’d get him back next round.


End file.
